I Am Watching You
by Teresa Driscoll
The opening chapter of I Am Watching You gave me goosebumps, but the rest of the book almost felt like it belonged elsewhere. In the beginning, a British woman on a train (later established to be an unreliable narrator) witnesses a potential crime and has to decide whether or not to intervene. Sound familiar? Yes, it’s a bit of a rip-off, but many, many novels have copied The Girl on the Train in recent years.
But after the beginning, the book fast-forwards to one year later. The protagonist has lived with the aftermath of her decision, and the crime still haunts her. Told in alternating perspectives of “the witness”, “the father”, “the friend”, etc, and all written in present tense, I wasn’t impressed by Teresa Driscoll’s talent. It felt almost juvenile, without continuity, and included story elements to tick off issues that are “hot” in current culture. For example, there’s a very disturbing father-daughter molestation scene that has nothing to do with the plot. Then, the victim is shamed and pressured into sharing her secret with the public because she believes it’ll be her fault if her father molests someone else in the future. I’m not kidding. How twisted is that, to blame the victim for a potential future crime just because she chose to keep a terrible secret to herself?
All in all, I wouldn’t really recommend this book. Thrillers are a dime a dozen nowadays, as they are probably the most popular genre. You can pick another one that’s better written and doesn’t feel like its sole purpose is to check boxes off a social list.
But after the beginning, the book fast-forwards to one year later. The protagonist has lived with the aftermath of her decision, and the crime still haunts her. Told in alternating perspectives of “the witness”, “the father”, “the friend”, etc, and all written in present tense, I wasn’t impressed by Teresa Driscoll’s talent. It felt almost juvenile, without continuity, and included story elements to tick off issues that are “hot” in current culture. For example, there’s a very disturbing father-daughter molestation scene that has nothing to do with the plot. Then, the victim is shamed and pressured into sharing her secret with the public because she believes it’ll be her fault if her father molests someone else in the future. I’m not kidding. How twisted is that, to blame the victim for a potential future crime just because she chose to keep a terrible secret to herself?
All in all, I wouldn’t really recommend this book. Thrillers are a dime a dozen nowadays, as they are probably the most popular genre. You can pick another one that’s better written and doesn’t feel like its sole purpose is to check boxes off a social list.